


The Breakfast Table

by MsJones



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Cute, Family, Funny, Gen, I Blame Tumblr, Modern AU, at least I like to think so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:50:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1974822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsJones/pseuds/MsJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://mongoliantiger.tumblr.com/post/92043131749/i-could-just-picture-a-modern-au-where-haytham-and">this Tumblr post</a> by Mongoliantiger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Breakfast Table

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from Assassin’s Creed or any relevant characters, which remain the property of Ubisoft.

Ziio came down the stairs, pulling her dressing gown around her. Wandering into the kitchen, she embraced her husband, who was standing by the stove frying some eggs, ran her fingers through his loose black hair, her lips making contact with the side of his neck. “Something smells good,” she murmured into his ear.

Haytham squirmed with pleasure and chuckled to himself, as his wife gave him a squeeze before letting him go, reaching up into one of the cupboards, and grabbing three plates. “Almost done, sweetheart,” he said with a smile.

Ziio set the plates on the counter next to the stove. “Hey, where’s Connor?” she asked.

Haytham smiled. “Oh, he went to check the mail for me,” he said. “He’s in the lounge now, probably watching the telly.”

“Ah,” Ziio replied, understanding. “Connor,” she called. “Breakfast’s ready!”

A small, dark haired boy, long black hair hanging in his big brown eyes, wandered into the kitchen, clutching the newspaper.

Haytham glanced over at his son. “So, catching up with the news, eh?” he asked cheerfully. “Just don’t scatter the pages all over the carpet, will you?”

“Ista!” he said brightly, spreading the paper upon the dining table. “Papa! Look!” One of his little fingers pointed to an article in the paper, at a photograph of a man with wild, greying blonde hair, a triumphant grin on his grizzled face, eyes dancing with mischief. A serious looking policeman was behind him, holding the man’s hands behind his back.

“Hmm?” Haytham muttered pacing over to the table, letting Ziio take over serving up breakfast. He glanced over his son’s shoulder, and at the page. “Oh... no...” he groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Ziio bustled over carrying a small plate of fried egg, and grilled sausage and bacon, setting it in front of Connor, who was sat at his spot at the table. “Here you go, sweetheart,” she said, placing a knife and fork at the side of the plate.

“Grandad’s in the paper again,” Connor said joyfully, as Haytham’s eyes, wide and horrified, scanned the page.

A disapproving scowl crossed Ziio’s face, as she served the rest of the food. “What’s he done?” she asked, with a sigh. “This time, I mean.” Shoving the skillet and grill pan in the empty sink, she brought the two bigger plates over, set them haphazardly on the table, and looked over her husband’s shoulder, peering at the news article Connor had brought them.

“’Local Man on Drunken Rampage,’” Ziio read out loud, sounding exasperated.

“’Edward Kenway, 63, was last night arrested during police efforts to prevent anti-social behaviour in the city’s Harbour area.’” Haytham read, with a sigh, as Connor giggled, amused by the drunken antics of his grandfather. “Oh for goodness...” He trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose as if it pained him.

“Carry on,” Ziio cajoled, suddenly interested as he sat down to tuck into her breakfast. She watched as Connor smothered his sausages in tomato ketchup, an adorable little smile on his face.

“’Onlookers observed the retired Navy officer acting strangely upon arriving at the Bad Weather bar on Waterfront Avenue at 9.30 on Thursday evening...’” He was silent a while, reading ahead. “Nope, that’s _not_ strange for Father at all,” he finished, in a disgusted tone.

“What happened, Papa?” Connor asked, eyes wide.

Haytham sighed, and turned back to the paper. “’Witnesses reported Mr. Kenway...’” He cringed as he prepared to read the paragraph. “Ugh. ‘...removing his shirt, approaching a number of women, asking them to...’ Oh... Father...”

“Give that here!” Ziio exclaimed, snatching up the paper. “’Asking them to..” She began to giggle. “Oh, Edward, only you!”

Connor looked up, very interested . “What did Grandpa do, Ista?” he questioned.

“Your Grandad... is quite the ladies’ man,” Haytham said, trying in vain to explain away Edward’s actions. “He likes to... grab their um... attention.” _How to explain the antics of a drunken relative to a five-year-old who idolises him,_ he mused.

“That’s not all he likes to grab,” Ziio continued with a wide smile. She cleared her throat. “’He is claimed to have assaulted waitress, Anne Bonny, by grabbing her...’” She stopped reading. “Oh, dear...”

“What does he like to grab, Ista?” Connor asked innocently

“Never mind, son,” Haytham said awkwardly, but he smiled as a gorgeous blush crossed his wife’s face, and he snatched the paper back. “Give that back,” he said, as Ziio giggled, taking a sip of orange juice she had just poured.

Haytham skipped ahead. “’An hour later, Mr. Kenway was seen to be hanging upside-down from the rigging of the former schooner, now floating restaurant, The Skylark, proclaiming he was a nocturnal winged mammal.’”

Connor, who had a mouthful of orange juice, spluttered and sprayed it across the table, some of the juice falling, unnoticed, on Haytham’s so far untouched breakfast. He started shaking and struggling to breathe.

Ziio gasped. “Oh.. my baby!” she exclaimed, running to her son’s side and slapping his back sharply, between his shoulders, before she realised he wasn’t choking, he was giggling uncontrollably.

“’Eyewitness, James Kidd, 29, said that ‘the crazy... um – expletive deleted – just climbed up to the highest mast and hung upside down yelling “I’m a fruit bat, I’m a fruit bat!” It was insane.’ ‘” Haytham continued. “’It was at this point that Mr. Kenway was arrested.’ I wonder why,” he finished, sarcastically.

“Grandad’s a fruit bat!” Connor said with delight, as Ziio wiped the table with a piece of kitchen towel, looking harassed.

“’He was remanded in custody overnight, and fined £75 for being drunk in a public place,’” Haytham finished, shaking his head in despair. “Well, at least we know how the annual Navy Old Boy’s meeting went.” He folded the paper, placed it on the floor, and he finally got stuck into his breakfast. “Is it me, or does this bacon taste like oranges?” he commented.

Connor looked away guiltily, avoiding the reproachful glances from his mother.

At that moment, the phone rang. Haytham sighed, dropping his cutlery onto the plate. “I’ll get it,” he sighed, leaving the table huffily. “Wasn’t hungry anyway.” He grabbed the handset in the hall. “Hello?” he grumbled.

“Ah, hello, my boy,” came a voice.

“Dad,” Haytham said, trying to sound nonplussed. “What a surprise.”

“Listen, son,” Edward growled. “I’m in... a spot of bother.”

“So I’ve heard,” sighed Haytham.

“You have?” Edward answered, sounding surprised. “A-anyway, can you lend me seventy-five quid?”

Haytham sighed, hand to his face, fingers pressing on to his forehead. “And why might that be...” he sighed.

“No reason,” Edward chirped, rather too quickly.

Haytham shook his head. “Connor showed us the papers today,” he continued seriously.

“Aww,” Edward cooed. “Such a good, clever lad, bright as a button, I...”

“We know what happened the other night,” Haytham said flatly. “Fruit-bat.”

Edward was silent for a minute. Then he spoke. “Jaysus,” he cursed. “They... published that?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Haytham answered simply, beginning to see the funny side at last. “Well, all right. I’ll cover your... indiscretion,” he agreed, “but I ask one thing in return.”

“Fine,” Edward grumbled in reply. “Name it.”

“Ziio and I haven’t had a proper date since Connor came along,” he said. “I need you to babysit. Next Friday night.” He smirked softly.

“Next Fri-” Edward spluttered. “But me an’ Ed n’ Ade were gonna...” He sighed, realising that drinking was doing him no favours, and he was probably embarrassing everyone around him, as well as himself, even though he was having a brilliant time doing it.

“Yes, I know you have your Navy buddies,” Haytham said, trying not to sound annoyed, “but really, when was the last time you spent time with your _only_ grandchild?”

Sucking in his breath, Edward answered, “When he was a babe in arms,” he said, shamefaced.

“So,” Haytham said cleverly, knowing he had his father exactly where he wanted him. “Shall we say... seven o’clock?”

“Okay,” Edward sighed, wrinkling his nose. “See you kids then.”

“Indeed,” Haytham said. “Until then, fruit bat!”


End file.
